


Adversaries and Anniversaries

by PurpleFluffyCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anniversary, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Slow Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:18:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8899051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleFluffyCat/pseuds/PurpleFluffyCat
Summary: Minerva loses a bet. In time, she may concede that she won, after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kelly_chambliss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelly_chambliss/gifts).



> Written for the tenth anniversary celebration of the daily_deviant insanejournal community.

"Well, it was a perverse idea to make a bet in the first" place."  
  
"Not at all, my dear Minerva. In any case, I win." Severus' tones were dark-chocolate smug. He folded his arms in satisfaction and tried very little to suppress a smirk.  
  
Minerva scowled at him and attempted a glare, but there was little heat in it. Of course, she was glad, too.   
  
The original wager had been made in such difficult, distraught times.  
  
  


*****

  
  
Headmaster Snape was disliked and feared in equal measure. For his former lover, the feelings were even more complex.   
  
It was late one night, and they had both been drinking. Minerva had made her way through a sizeable amount of Scotch, and Severus had numbed himself on double-distilled elf-made. They met in a corridor, long after dark.  
  
Wands raised, a wary glare passed between them. They had not spoken since Albus' death, and the loathing rolled from Minerva in tangible waves.  
  
She considered turning, but in fact stood her ground, more through instinct than practical purpose. Severus squared up to her, his eyes wide and penetrating. Neither of them spoke, but Severus did not need his skills of Legilimency to see Minerva's thoughts: _Murderer. Traitor. I loathe you._  
  
She leered at him in disgust, lurching forwards; in his addled brain, Severus thought that she had never looked more beautiful, so full she was of anger, and of life.  
  
He edged closer, and they were now mere inches away from one another; Severus could feel Minerva's warm whisky breath on his face, and see the clouds of their exhalations mingle in the cold air.   
  
Slowly, almost absurdly, he raised the hand that was not clutching his wand to caress Minerva's cheek.  
  
  
Minerva started, but did not move away. That simple touch set her nerves alight. Through some combination of joy, repulsion and bloody-mindedness, she would not cower - and instead seized Severus' hair near the back of his neck and pulled him into a punishing kiss.  
  
He was frozen in surprise, but then responded to her lips as a starving man would to sustenance. One drunken tongue sought another with insolence and with far more care than either could or would admit. Wands dropped back to pockets and hands clutched at robes, roughly, desperately - pulling and tugging for both greater contact and the upper hand.  
  
For a moment, they broke apart, panting, eyes glazed and past-quizzical - but then fell upon another anew. Severus bit and sucked at Minerva's neck, now bared from her robes, while Minerva - with little aim but significant force - pulled at the buttons of Severus' robes, leaving him exposed to the waist.   
  
Her hands slunk inside, and sharp fingernails scored marks along his pale back and sides. In some corner of her mind that was not clouded with his lips and teeth, Minerva registered how fragile he felt; even thinner than he had always been.   
  
Severus hissed, and returned the invasion, opening Minerva's blouse to grope her breasts. Then, still joined at the lips, he foraged beneath her skirts as she clawed at his trousers and underthings, exposing his hardness to the cold air. Minerva sobbed as his fingers found her _there,_ long and skilled, and not nearly as violent as they might have been, and she tipped her pelvis toward him in silent invitation, despite herself.   
  
Minerva did not need to ask twice. Severus groaned as he pushed a finger inside her, feeling her hot and wet and aching for him, despite it all, and then shoved her backwards against the stone wall. Her hands were on his cock, gripping and pulling with something between passion and hate, and he felt so very close from the crude friction and the intensity of her eyes and her mouth and her mind. Severus moved Minerva's grip just long enough to position himself under her dress, and then thrust home, fast and urgent.  
  
The moan filling that deserted corridor came from one or both of them; it was impossible to know which. They rutted with heads rolled back, and desperate cries echoed from the stonework; their robes hung from their shoulders in disarray - and somewhere, in the alcohol-soaked parts of their brains, they hoped they could fuck away the fact that they were enemies.  
  
Quick and furious, the coupling did not last long. Minerva dug her fingers into Severus' shoulders as she tightened and convulsed, and feeling her so intensely tipped Severus to the edge, moments afterwards. He came with a guttural cry, and buried his head into the crook of her shoulder.  
  
"Minerva," he whispered, as the waves of orgasm washed over him. "I want you..."  
  
For a long moment, there was absolute stillness. Severus could feel the pulse in Minerva's neck as his head rested there, and Minerva could feel his ribcage rise and fall in fluttering gasps where her hands lay.  
  
Then, without warning, she yanked herself away, and swathed her robes about her like armour. Minerva snorted derisively. "Well, now you've had me." She began to stalk away, hating herself and him in equal measure.  
  
A flash of what might have been anger - or might have been something else - passed across his face, but Minerva was not watching. "Twenty years from now," he called to her retreating form, "You and I will be together." She was pulled-up short.   
  
It wasn't exactly a statement. In different circumstances, and with a different person, it might have sounded like a _hope_ \- a desperate, sad hope - the kind that is blurted out in the face of distress, as if merely saying a thing might will it into reality against all odds.   
  
But right then, it sounded like a threat.  
  
"You bet?" Minerva spat, turning on her heel. And then, sore and confused and drunk: "What game are you playing, Severus? Does it give you a particular thrill to hurt me like this?"  
  
For just a moment, he looked as if he had been slapped. Severus lowered his eyes, and in a voice so low Minerva thought she might have imagined it, he said, "No." Then, he met her gaze once more, and sneered. "Very well: _I bet._ "  
  
  


******

  
  
"...And if my calculations are correct, I have been victorious now for approximately 20 minutes." Severus consulted their wall-clock luxuriantly, enjoying the moment.  
  
Minerva rolled her eyes. "All right, all right, you insufferable old snake. What do you win?"  
  
"I believe, my Dear, I should like to savour my prize." He reached out toward Minerva, and loosened the tie of her dressing gown.  
  
It would have been easy for Minerva to acquiesce; she always melted into his touch. But this time, she stilled his hands and turned to face him, narrowing her eyes. "Let me look at you."  
  
Severus snorted. "The same as usual, I fear."  
  
Minerva shushed him, then gazed once again as he held her close, remembering.  
  
The years had been kind to Severus, in the sense that he had actually _had years_. That, of course, had been very touch-and-go, at first. The Mediwizards had assumed him dead and begun the necessary preparations; Minerva was the one who had seen the merest twitch of an eyelid. Of course she had been.  
  
She had also been the one sitting at Severus' bedside when he came to, and his name had been cleared. Minerva had been there most mornings when he woke up, ever since.   
  
The years had also been kind to Severus, in that, for the first period of his life, he actually looked as if he had been the recipient of some kindness. The frown lines that had prematurely etched themselves around his forehead were now joined by creases around his eyes where they had smiled. His hair, with hints of salt and pepper, was soft and clean - and although perpetually unruly, it did not seem to be there specifically as a means of defence. His figure was thicker and comfortable; he no longer seemed about to snap, and a well-fed, rounded paunch filled out his long black robes.  
  
It was exactly that figure that Minerva now caressed, taking her time to unfasten each and every button, and stroke each little inch of skin that she exposed on the way. Severus' eyes fluttered shut; even now, he seemed touchingly unprepared for her gentle ministrations, and a small hum escaped his throat at every touch.  
  
He harrumphed as she kissed the curve of his belly. "I know, I know," he said, "I'm going soft."  
  
Minerva smiled and hugged him close, enjoying the warmth and the solidity. "Come to bed with me."  
  
Severus did not need to be asked twice. In one fluid motion, he swept Minerva into his arms and carried her next door into their chamber - which was tartan-green and Slytherin-green; most definitely both and neither. He laid her upon the bed, and her hair was liquid moonlight as it swam about the pillows.   
  
Severus shrugged his unfastened robes from his shoulders, and set about undressing his wife; first her gown, and then her nightdress. He kissed her shoulder as a silken strap slithered from it, and traced intricate patterns on her neck and chest with yellowed fingertips. A thoughtful look crossed his features as he knelt above her, and then he said - as if forming the thought anew, "You're beautiful. Do you know that?"  
  
Minerva rolled her eyes. "I'm ninety-two."  
  
"-And I'm the Queen of Sheba. But, I insist: you're beautiful."  
  
She smiled, and then pulled him down toward her. "Come here, ye daft chit."  
  
Severus wriggled out of his underthings and laid down bedside her, entwining their legs. As he felt her warmth against him, and Minerva's encircling embrace, he marvelled once again that he should be alive, and so very fortunate. He thought that one day, he would learn take all this for granted - but after twenty years, he was beginning to reflect that such a day may never come.  
  
Minerva's hands slid down his sides and cradled his arse, squeezing appreciatively as they lingered there. She traced lazy circles around his nipples, tweaking gently in the way that made him hiss, and begin to harden. Severus shifted a little, to lick at the junction of Minerva's neck and shoulder, and she rolled her head backwards for him, slipping her hands around to reach his erection, which was now hot and hard.  
  
They luxuriated like that for some time, stroking and caressing and nibbling and kissing, enjoying the touch of skin on skin and the languid dance of hands and tongues. Each motion was serene and measured, but the combined effect was one of building heat and firmest passion. Severus was becoming rigid with need - though Minerva did not indulge his growing yearning for rapid strokes - and Minerva was wet and aching for him - despite having received only the merest whisper of a touch across her clitoris, and a teasing finger that stopped short of her entrance. It was almost a competition of endurance; as ever, neither were keen to be the first to concede.  
  
It was after the fourth or fifth not-quite teasing touch between her legs, that Minerva decided she had had enough. "If you wouldn't mind, my Dear, I'd very much like you to fuck me before I'm a hundred."  
  
Even in his present state of need, Severus smirked. Minerva cursed inwardly, just watching him chalk up another little mental point to the perpetual tally - but also at that moment, she was nearly past caring about such things.  
  
"Very well," he said - and if some magical thesaurus needed a howler-clip for 'self-satisfaction', that would have been a marvellous reference candidate. Severus positioned himself between her legs, and Minerva arched from the bed in anticipation.  
  
He entered her inch by inch, taking his time and making the moment last. Minerva mewled a little with impatience, but Severus merely grinned at making her wait. Then, he began to move in a rhythm that was both delectable and excruciating in its slowness.   
  
Minerva bucked upwards, but there was no use in trying to accelerate things. Instead she focused on the exquisite feeling of being filled so fully be her lover, his sizeable cock throbbing inside her as she clenched around him, and the weight of his body upon her, warm and solid as his flesh filled the curves and hollows of her frame from top to toe.  
  
It was not clear how long they lasted like that, but it was surely one of their more impressive displays of endurance. Waves of pleasure were rippling through Minerva's body, each more powerful than the last as Severus slid home again and again, savouring each stroke. She was almost exhausted when finally Severus thrust and stilled, panting deeply as he came.  
  
When they had cleaned up and settled under the covers, Severus and Minerva laid on their backs, holding hands. The bed canopy was charmed to show the night sky, and that night had lovely stars.  
  
"I don't know what I did to deserve you," Severus murmured - a bit to himself, a little to Minerva, but mainly to the cosmos.  
  
"Be stubborn?" She replied, and squeezed his hand, hoping for another twenty years.


End file.
